A Portrait of an Artist and Young Man
by IlluminatedShadow
Summary: Alfred just wanted to create art forever. He wanted Lady Luck to smile upon him. He just didn't think it would involve falling in love with a beautiful young nobleman engaged to another. No, that was definitely not in his original plan. Alfred/Matthew
1. Chapter 1

This time, I wasn't even thinking about Hetalia. Then my roommate came in and said, "Do you have paint?" I said no, and before I could ask why she needed paint, a plot bunny came out of nowhere and started attacking. Evil, vicious, rabid little things that don't let you sleep until you finish writing. -sulk- And then this was born. Unoriginal? Perhaps. Inaccurate on many levels? Probably. Alfred/Matthew? You bet your sweet tush.

But, let me just say this: Semi-period work with sex in the moonlight.

Do you understand why now? -whimper-

Warnings: AU, language, sex (in later chapters), OOCness, cliched premise, other things that escape me

Pairing: Alfred/Matthew

Disclaimer: I don't own. Trust me, its a good thing.

* * *

The charcoal moved against the smooth page of the sketchbook swiftly, leaving heavy, dark lines in its wake. Slender fingers, calloused from manual labor, held the stick with gentleness not normally associated with rough hands, deftly maneuvering across the page, gradually connecting lines until definite shapes formed against the crème colored background. Reverently, patiently, the artist focused on his task, golden hair damp with the sweat of the warm day plastered to his forehead and tongue sticking out in concentration.

The young man was so focused on his task, that he didn't hear the voice calling his name angrily until the door of his room flew open, slamming the wall with a heavy thud. The blond jerked at the noise, his steady hand loosing its balance. The charcoal, once gracefully dancing across the page, stumbled. An ugly, black bruise marred the page where the instrument had slid and where the young man's wrist had smudged his hard work.

"Alfred!" The man who had stormed in regarded the blond sitting at the table with an angry gaze. A guilty expression overtook the other's face under the intense scrutiny of the newcomer and sky-blue eyes dropped to the ground.

The man who had stormed in, planted his hands on his waist and just glared at Alfred. Emerald eyes were sharp under thick, bristling brows. "I've been calling your name for the longest time. Why on earth did you not…" the man trailed off, catching sight of the ruined paper sitting before the blond on the heavy oak table. "For the love of the Queen, Alfred! There are more important things you could be doing than wasting time drawing! You could be helping out in the tavern! You could be out there learning a proper trade!"

Alfred scowled and stared stubbornly at his older brother. "Art is a trade."

"It's a useless, ridiculous thing." Arthur snapped. "Indulged in by men who care not for responsibility or are too lazy to do honest work."

Alfred, feeling righteous indignation flare in his gut, rose to his feet and leveled his most vicious glare at the other man standing in the doorway. "Dad was an artist!"

"He was an idealistic dreamer." Arthur said, dismissively. "He wasted all his time drawing and painting, died penniless and left us all to fend for ourselves." He said coldly. But when he noticed the stricken look on his younger brother's face, Arthur felt some of his rage cool. He sighed and carded his fingers through his short, sandy-blond hair. "Father was talented, I know. And so are you, Alfred. But you cannot think that you will be able to survive as an artist. So don't be a fool." Shaking his head, Arthur turned on his heel. "I've spoken to the blacksmith. You start your apprenticeship tomorrow."

"No—"

"Its already been done." Arthur said harshly, not looking back lest he see the hurt in his brother's eyes and loose his resolve. "Get to bed. You'll need your energy for tomorrow."

And then he was gone. Alfred glared hatefully at his back before slamming the door shut. Leaning against the rough, he cursed loudly at the unfairness of everything.

"Stupid Arthur." Alfred snarled. "Ass thinks he can always order me around. Think he knows best." With a pout, the blond turned around and tugged open the door, "I hate you!" He shouted down the hallway before slamming the door shut and stomping over to the bed. Hoping Arthur heard him and still upset, he collapsed onto the old mattress and glared at the ceiling.

There was a small part of him that knew Arthur had a point and was only trying to be helpful. It had been difficult, after Dad died. The man had never been able to hold down a job for long, and often tried to reassure his exasperated wife and skeptical sons that his artwork would sell and they'd have a good life. Alfred had been the only one to believe him. With wide blue eyes filled with awe and curiosity, the blond would sit next to his father as the man would painstakingly sketch and paint images of the landscape. For hours, the pair would sit on the rocks on the outskirts of the town and create.

Of course, back home, Arthur and their mother would be struggling to run the tavern left to their father by his father. Alfred and his Dad would trudge home, happy and accomplished, only to be faced with silence when their newest work would be presented. Alfred's mother would tear up and cry into her hands. Arthur would refuse to look at their father and instead lead Alfred to bed.

Soon, their mother had passed on.

Arthur ran the tavern by himself, mostly. Sometimes he would guilt his father into helping for a few hours. Usually he would refuse to speak to the man, not even warming towards him slightly when the man managed to sell a painting.

Alfred, though, adored the man and often clumsily drew alongside him on their excursions.

Soon, however, their father also passed on. Arthur now struggled to run the tavern and educate his younger brother. Alfred, however, mostly ran free and played with children and, once called home, would stay up in his room and draw using his father's art supplies. Arthur had sighed and let him, loving his brother too much to stop him.

But soon Alfred grew up, slipping into manhood and Arthur didn't want to see his only brother drawn into the indolent life that he always believed his father led. He had been a harsh man, forcing Alfred to study on his own and go out and find some work, if not some apprenticeship. And Alfred had obliged, grudgingly, knowing that his brother couldn't do everything alone.

And he had odd jobs, here and there. But he continued to draw, it being a compulsion and soothing habit, often doing so when he ought to have been working. Then he was fired and the cycle began again.

Arthur tried time and time to stop the drawing, but Alfred had found ways and often drew secretly. When he was caught, he brushed off Arthur's anger and even threw back some of his own.

But now he was nineteen and Arthur was unshakable.

Alfred frowned and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He loved Arthur, truly, despite his hatred of his art and stringent ways. The least he could do would be to try and succeed at this new job his brother procured.

And Alfred, feeling the rage leave his body, now only felt lingering guilt. He was a kind-hearted boy, despite his selfish tendencies and inability to listen. He could see the strain Arthur was under, had always been under.

As much as he hoped he could become a renowned artist whose paintings were demanded, desired by the entire aristocracy, the chances of that were fairly slim, even with luck. He was good, but he had no formal training and just because his work looked nice, was it really?

Ever the optimist, however, Alfred decided with a bright smile, that maybe Arthur would be more accepting of his drawing if he showed the older man how dedicated he was to his new job. If Alfred could succeed at that (which he was fairly certain he could), then Arthur wouldn't mind him drawing and maybe even give him more pocket money for supplies.

And, who knows? Maybe Lady Luck would bestow her affections on him.

* * *

"Well, I had my doubts about you, boy. But it seems you're not as lazy and useless as they say." The blacksmith, a burly, graying man with sharp eyes and a booming voice, said.

Alfred grinned brightly, his youthful face tan and smudged with soot and shiny with perspiration. He had been working under the blacksmith for a few weeks now and had proven himself quick and fairly dedicated worker. Sometimes the urge to doodle came about, and, with itching fingers, he would sneak out a blunt pencil and scraps of paper. He would sketch swiftly, half-eaten sandwich in his mouth. In those brief, quiet minutes he had to himself during lunch, he would produce dozens of miniature sketches of anything and everything. After his sandwich was done, however, he was quick to shove the paper and pencil back into his small bag, just managing to stand as the blacksmith lumbered in and gave him instructions.

It was tough work, but Alfred relished challenges. It kept him occupied and the science and craft behind him kept him interested. Sure, he got a few burns and bruises, but he was too tough to let those slow him.

And Arthur would always look pleased and proud when he trudged home. The shorter man thought his brother was finally growing up and putting that 'silly, childish habit' behind him. And Alfred, though slightly guilty, never told him otherwise.

"Looks like Lord Bonnefoy has guests." The blacksmith said off-handedly, looking up from his work, hammer poised in midair. Alfred looked up from his task and watched as the sound of trotting grew louder. Soon an opulent carriage, with the swirling initials of the nobleman emblazoned on the side, came into view, led by well-groomed, chestnut horses. Alfred was rather disinterested with the entire affair and was about to go back to work, when he saw the curtain of the carriage move. Turning in curiosity, he saw a pair of eyes peek out and flicker towards him.

Alfred felt his breath catch. Those eyes were like none he had ever seen. They were absolutely stunning in their strangeness. Swirls of dark blue and rich purple danced together, shimmering and entwined and Alfred, for the life of him, couldn't give a definite name for that shade. But it was absolutely lovely and, despite the ephemeral glimpse, Alfred refused to believe that anyone with those eyes could be anything less than beautiful.

"It's probably some noblewoman coming to throw herself at Bonnefoy." The blacksmith said with distaste. "Women these days."

Alfred, eyes still wide, nodded absently.

* * *

The next day, the entire town was a buzz with the news that Lord Bonnefoy's distant cousin had arrived. Apparently, the young man and the Lord had been promised to each other since birth. Now the young man, Matthew Williams (the youngest son whose father was a prominent diplomat and son of an old and distinguished family and whose mother was a childhood playmate of the Queen and a favorite member of Court) was visiting in order to acquaint himself with his future husband.

The wedding was to be held the following spring.

Alfred listened, rather bored, as the blacksmith went on and on about the current news. Despite what one was led to believe by his appearance, the old blacksmith loved to chat and gossip as much as any housewife. Alfred, still enchanted by the mysterious figure with those charming eyes, only half-listened. It never occurred to him that the person on his mind was the very person everyone was talking about.

"They say the union is alright because the Lord is a second son and independently wealthy. And Williams, though he is a favorite at Court, is also the youngest. The Queen blessed the marriage herself." The blacksmith continued on.

Alfred nodded, eyes unfocused.

"They say the young Williams boy inherited his mother's beauty and father's mind. But his eyes are his own."

"Wait, what?" Alfred asked, suddenly dragged back down from his daydreaming. He looked strangely at the blacksmith.

"His eyes. Are you going deaf, lad?"

Alfred bit back a retort and asked, "What about them?"

"Oh. His parents both have brown eyes. When he was born, some whispered his mother had been unfaithful. But the rumors died soon enough. There was no mistaking his heritage."

"Hmm." Alfred wouldn't lie, he was rather intrigued now by this Matthew Williams fellow.

"Oh no you don't." The blacksmith said suddenly and Alfred looked at him quizzically. "I know that look. Ever since you saw that carriage. You're smitten."

"I am not." Alfred argued.

"You are too." The blacksmith retorted. "And let me tell you know, boy. Put it out of your head. He's already promised to another and he's an aristocrat."

"I am not smitten." Alfred snapped. "You crazy old man."

Smitten? Him? Sure, the guy had pretty eyes. But that hardly meant he was in love!

The blacksmith looked unconvinced but let the matter drop.

Alfred, now fairly miffed, added, "You just want something to talk about when you go to your knitting circle."

"I thought I told you never to mention that, boy!"

The two continued to rib each other, playfully. All talk of Alfred's supposed infatuation was forgotten in the good-natured banter.

* * *

Matthew looked over his new bedroom with some disinterest. It was richly decorated and overlooking the now in full-bloom garden. The bed was big and welcoming, with a pile of plush pillows resting on a scarlet duvet. The curtains of the bed were tied near the posts with a wide, velvet bows and all the furniture was new and made of exotic, imported wood. It was a big room, pretty and fit for a king.

But it was too extravagant for Matthew's taste.

His room back home, though no less expensively decorated, was relatively sparse. It overlooked the green lawn and neat trees. It was decorated with paintings and shelves of books that he had moved to his room out of the manor library.

The blond may have been used to expensive things, the best things. But he didn't like extravagance. His parents, though popular and wealthy, were a modest couple. They raised him to be mindful and appreciative and socially aware, but never gaudy or foolish.

He knew Lord Bonnefoy was trying to impress him and found it fairly laughable. He was fond of Francis, to be sure. The man was charming and kind and loving. And though Matthew didn't love him, he didn't think he'd ever have to worry about straying. He was Francis's and the other man should be secure in that fact.

Though, a dark voice whispered in the back of his mind, Francis is hardly faithful himself.

Matthew frowned, remembering sweetly hissed rumors of the older blond's dalliances with men and women alike. His eyes suddenly rested on the vase of fresh roses that had been in his room along with a note. The note had been brief, wishing Matthew welcome and inviting him to make himself at home, stating that anything he wanted, he could simply ask and would receive. It also mentioned the hope that Matthew would be happy and also enjoy the roses that were from the garden, raised by Francis himself.

The roses were the favorite part of his new room.

Matthew smiled faintly. Francis may be flirtatious and questionable in his affairs, but the man couldn't be so bad.

This new town wasn't so bad. The people had looked friendly and the staff was quite kind. It was quite different from the Capital and from the court. He believed there wouldn't be as much intrigue or carefully disguised belittlement. As much as he loved the Court and his home, the cunning and slyness was repulsive. He could play the games as well as anyone else, but he didn't enjoy it. This new town, quiet and far away from the Capital, appealed to him and he wanted to explore it as soon as possible.

Matthew decided he'd ask Francis. He had a feeling the other would have no objections to his request.

* * *

"I am surprised, _mon cher_, that you wanted to see the village so soon." The taller man said pleasantly. "I had thought you'd be tired from your journey."

"Nonsense." Matthew replied, regarding the buildings and people with wide eyes. "I rested all of yesterday. I couldn't resist the call of this town any longer."

Francis smiled indulgently at the younger man. Behind them, trailed one of Francis's bodyguards. Though nobleman frequented the village often and was well regarded by the people, he wanted his fiancé to feel secure. However, the blond hadn't even noticed the guard and was far more interested in the bustle of the townspeople.

It was endearing.

"It's so different from the Capital." Matthew mused and Francis nodded in agreement. The Capital was incredibly noisy and polluted and Francis much preferred this little town to that monstrous metropolis.

The pair stopped outside the baker's and Francis stepped in, leaving Matthew alone for a moment. Across the way, Matthew could see the blacksmith's forge. There, sitting at a small table was the boy Matthew had seen from the carriage as he entered the city.

At first, he was struck by their similar appearances. The boy had short blond hair and a single cowlick that stuck out in front. Blue eyed and bigger, the other boy now seemed to be deeply engrossed in something. Sandwich haphazardly sticking out of his mouth, he seemed to be furiously scribbling something. Interest piqued, Matthew started to walk away from the bakery and towards the young man.

When he got close enough, he could see that the blond was drawing something. Now even more curious, the paler blond, ignoring the heat of the forge, asked, "What are you drawing?"

Alfred, surprised, looked up and found himself face to face with a slender young man. More striking, however, was the fact that Alfred recognized the youth in front of him as the mysterious Matthew Williams and the owner of those stunning eyes.

Eyes that were regarding him with curiosity.

"….eh?" Came his intelligent response. Alfred could've kicked himself.

But the nobleman laughed softly, a shy grin spreading across his lips. Tucking a wavy lock the color of the morning sun behind his ear, blue-violet eyes twinkled in mirth and Alfred couldn't help but laugh a little too.

"So what is it you're drawing?"

"Oh, just…a little doodle." Alfred said, shrugging, not really looking at the attractive nobleman. His face felt hot and he sincerely hoped that if he was red, the other blond would attribute it as being a result of the heat. After all, even the other blond's fair complexion was becoming rosy.

"May I see?" The slender male asked politely and Alfred, a little embarrassed and not used to people taking an interest in his work, wordlessly handed over the slip of paper. The nobleman leaned over and took it, looking at it silently.

Alfred held his breath. He was fairly certain the other would say it was a good try and hand it back and walk away, all interest gone.

Instead, much to his surprise, the blond looked at him, eyes serious, and said, "This is amazing work."

Now Alfred was positive he was blushing.

* * *

-somewhat speechless- Yeah...so...yeah...this... Good? Bad? Continue? Don't continue? Interested? -crawls away somewhere to sleep-


	2. Chapter 2

Yes, finally, an update! Thanks to everyone who reviewed this story and is following it. I hope you enjoy the following chapter~

Pairing: eventual Alfred/Matthew

Warnings: slash, language, OOCness, etc

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

"No, truly, this is quite good." Matthew repeated, pretty eyes flicking down to study the piece of paper. "Do you have any other drawings?"

"Um…just doodles." Alfred said quickly, turning away to rummage through his bag and hoping to hide his flushed face. "Would you like to see, my lord?"

"Please." The nobleman said eagerly.

Alfred, averting his eyes, handed a few slips of paper to the other blond and, breath bated in anticipation, tried to hurriedly wipe his sooty hands on his trousers. Unable to wait for the other to speak, Alfred, excited but trying not to sound over zealous, said, "I just like to scribble in my free time. Its nothing special." He shrugged.

"You're quite talented." Matthew said, firmly, smiling up at the other man.

Alfred kinda wished the other wouldn't smile so much at him. His face felt like it was on fire.

"Have you been formally trained?" Matthew asked politely.

"No, I haven't." Alfred said with an apologetic laugh. "I taught myself."

Matthew looked incredibly impressed. Then, a thoughtful expression came over his face. "Would you mind terribly if I kept these pieces?"

"Not at all!" Alfred said quickly, and then wincing when he realized how high he had sounded.

Matthew just laughed quietly. "Thank you…Alfred, was it?"

At the other blond's nod, Matthew began to step away. "My name is Matthew Williams. I believe we'll see each other soon, Alfred." With a slight nod, Matthew turned and returned to the bakery, slipping the drawings into the pocket of his overcoat, just as Francis exited the shop.

Alfred watched, slightly jealous, as the older blond offered the younger man his arm and received a brilliant smile in return. Unconsciously, his lips twitched into a frown.

"You, my boy, are most definitely smitten." A voice said assuredly from behind him.

Alfred, torn away from watching Matthew talk animatedly with his fiancé and the way the young man's face lit up, whirled around to whine, frustrated pout in place, at the blacksmith, "Am not!"

* * *

"What do you think, Francis?" Matthew asked, perched slightly on the armrest of the chair. "Do you see his use of line and shadow? And he is drawing from memory as well. Its remarkably accurate and well-done. And he's an amateur."

Francis, holding one of the slips of paper—containing a rough sketch of a meadow—merely nodded with a slightly amused smile at his fiancé's excitement.

"It's hardly complete but the skill is there." Matthew leaned over further, delicately tracing the light lines. Bright eyes turned on the smiling aristocrat. "Well?"

"You are so excited, right now." Francis cooed, reaching over to tuck an unruly strand of hair behind the younger man's ear. "_Si __mignon__._"

Matthew frowned, bristling from the vaguely patronizing action. But he held his tongue. "I would really like to know what you think, Francis."

The older blond chuckled and looked back down at the paper. "This young man is quite talented. But, _cher_, if you want me to commission a painting from this—Alfred, was it?—you needn't go through all this." The man stood, then, gracefully and cupped the curve of Matthew's cheek. "Whatever you want, any whim any desire, simply ask and you shall receive." He smiled indulgently and pressed his lips against the other's forehead. "He can even do the wedding portraits. I was planning to send for a painter from the Capital, but this boy has more talent than those stuffy old men."

Matthew, pleased that convincing Francis was an easy affair, flashed a brilliant smile at the older man and took back the drawing he had shown Francis. "I'll send for him tomorrow."

"Of course." Francis said, waving his hand almost dismissively as he made his way to his desk. Matthew, taking the motion as a cue to leave, bade the man good night and quietly exited the study.

* * *

"Alfred," Arthur began calmly, leaning against the door frame to his younger brother's room, "is there a particular reason an envoy from Lord Bonnefoy's estate is waiting for you downstairs."

Alfred, who was pulling on his boots and getting ready to leave for the forge, stared up at the sandy-haired man with wide blue eyes. "Um…" He bit his lip and concentrated on lacing up his shoes. "No?"

He hadn't mentioned his meeting with Matthew to his elder brother. Even though he wanted to shove his drawings in his brother's face and say "Hah! He thinks I'm good!", he didn't and decided it would be best to keep quiet.

After all, maybe the nobleman was just being nice.

He looked nice too.

Arthur nodded. "Oh." Sharp green eyes studied the blond, who resolutely avoided the stern gaze. "Is there something you're not telling me, Alfred?"

Alfred shook his head rapidly, thinking he had managed to convince Arthur.

Unfortunately, he wasn't adept at reading the atmosphere and, thus, did not notice the way the temperature of the room seemed to drop as Arthur's patience began to wear away.

"So you wouldn't know anything about Lord Bonnefoy wanting to commission some paintings from you?"

"Really?" Alfred asked, shooting to his feet and looking over with shining eyes. A wide grin spread across his face before he noticed the look on the older man's face. "Uh…wait, just let me explain—"

"Please do." Arthur said curtly, expression rather displeased.

"Well, I was at the forge and I was doodling—"

"What?"

"—its not interfering with work!"

"Alfred—"

"And then Matthew—"

"Who?"

"Lord Bonnefoy's fiancé."

"Bloody hell. Don't address him so casually then!"

"Fine, fine! But he asked to see what I was drawing and I let him and he was like 'this is really good'."

Arthur glared at him. "And?"

"And that's it!" Alfred breathed, throwing his hands in the air. "Well, no."

Arthur groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as Alfred continued. "He also asked to see some other drawings and so I let him—"

"This wasn't the first time you were drawing on the job?"

Alfred looked at his feet, looking all the world like a child caught eating desert before dinner. "No…" Blue eyes darted up to look at Arthur before he added, quietly. "He asked to keep some and I let him. I didn't expect anything more to come out of it."

Arthur looked like he wanted to say something, but sighed, saying resignedly, "I should've known better than to believe you'd completely stopped." He shook his head and Alfred felt guilty.

"But isn't this good?" Alfred asked, hopefully. "It means Bonnefoy wants to hire me. That's good."

"I suppose." Arthur allowed grudgingly. It wasn't that he was unhappy of his brother's good fortune, he just didn't want the younger man to be mislead or taken advantage of or hurt if things didn't happen as he envisioned.

"And I am good." Alfred added, voice becoming more confident. "Maybe this is just the chance I need. Maybe I could become a Master." Blue eyes gleamed animatedly. "I'll become rich and famous and we can move to the Capital and you won't have to work so much." He laughed cheerfully. "I'll totally save you and the rest of your sanity, brother." He looked at the other man eagerly.

Arthur sighed, leaning his head against the wooden frame, eyes shut. As appealing as that sounded, the realistic side of him refused to fall prey to his brother's delusions.

He refused to be let down again.

But, feeling the excitement his brother exuded, he hadn't the heart to belittle his brother's fantasy.

"Perhaps, Alfred. Perhaps." He turned on his heel. "Now go downstairs. The poor man has been standing and waiting for a while now."

"Aye aye captain!"

After Alfred had rushed past him, boots stomping heavily against the floorboards, Arthur shook his head with a fond smile on his face.

* * *

Quick note: I have no set time period for this, but its not modern times. I'd say its a mix of time periods... XD I hope this chapter was okay, despite its shortness. This won't be a trend, other chapters will be longer. I just wanted to update quickly and get this out 'cause it was bugging me. Let me know how you guys feel!


	3. Chapter 3

So, yes, this is the next update according to the poll I posted. The poll is still up. I might close it in a day or so though. I was unsure of where to take this, but I tried guys. Also, someone asked if same-gender marriages are okay or common. Well, in this time period that I am winging/making up, they are not common. Neither Francis nor Matthew are the first sons, thus neither really needs to carry on the family name. Their marriage is more to strengthen the bond between the two families (though distantly related) and to strengthen each family so in future generations, more marriages can occur. So, no one will explicitly speak out against it, there are people who don't like it but, so far, its accepted. However, it is unacceptable for first sons because they inherit the most from their fathers. I hope that answers that question.

Pairing: Francis/Matthew, eventual Alfred/Matthew

Warnings: slash, AU

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

* * *

Matthew sighed, for perhaps the thousandth time, as he strolled down the ornate hallway of his husband-to-be. Golden fleur-de-lys on the walls glowed in the bright sunlight and the blond nobleman idly traced the designs as he walked slowly, steps barely making a noise on the marble floor.

Francis was away on business in the Capital and, despite Matthew's readiness to follow, had merely given his betrothed a chaste kiss before departing, leaving the younger man without company in the large manor.

Well, perhaps not without company, Matthew conceded, coming to a stop before one of the large windows. Pale hand pressed against the warm glass, he regarded the painter down in the garden.

The blond—Alfred—was scribbling away on one of the many canvases Francis had provided him. The older blond had presented the young artist with an excess of supplies and an advance on his payment.

"Just paint whatever my _Mathieu_ wants." Francis had stated simply, taking his fiancé's hand in his with an affectionate smile. "If it pleases him, it will please me."

Matthew had blushed faintly, embarrassed at the slight twisting of his name, when Alfred's bright eyes had flickered towards him, studying him in that way only an artist can, and he had been quick to squeeze Francis's hand before letting go entirely.

Biting his lip in thought, Matthew weighed his options. He could either continue to waste away indoors for another day or he could find out if this new painter was pleasant company.

The decision was fairly easy.

* * *

Alfred huffed in frustration, almost ready to throw down his piece of charcoal into the lush grass. He hadn't caught a glimpse of Matthew during the entire week he was here, he had already painted several simple watercolors of the rose bushes, he hadn't seen Matthew, and he was already bored of sketching landscapes.

"There's not much out here, is there?" A soft voice interrupted his sulking and Alfred looked back hurriedly, nearly knocking over his easel.

"My lord!" He chirped, before wincing at his over-excitedness. "There's plenty out here. I was just thinking that the roses—"

"You've painted enough roses." Matthew interrupted lightly with a smile. "Francis will appreciate having those in his study." He frowned then, purple eyes squinting in the sunlight.

"Then, what would you rather I paint?" Alfred asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Matthew opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by an indignant squawk as a maid rushed outside with a parasol.

"My lord!" She looked panicked, holding the parasol above the pale nobleman to shield him from the sun. "We'll set up a table and some shade, sir. Perhaps some tea as well?"

"It's a little too hot for tea." Matthew mused.

"Lemonade then." The maid nodded decisively, leading the nobleman to sit as the table had quickly been set up shortly following her arrival.

Alfred watched the proceedings with wide eyes, secretly wondering just what the big deal was about a little sun.

"Its just sun." He muttered, turning back to his blank canvas.

"Its more of a hazard than you'd assume Alfred." Matthew said with a slight smile when the painter seemed to freeze. "I'm afraid I burn fairly easily." The nobleman sighed. "I was actually born in the North." He explained as Alfred listened. "This heat doesn't really agree with me."

"What was it like? In the North?" Alfred asked, blue eyes curious.

Matthew looked surprised by his question and the other blond's brain suddenly caught up with his mouth.

"I mean, if you wouldn't mind answering, my lord." He rushed, a little breathlessly.

"Not at all." The nobleman said, surprise leaving his face. "Its just not often when someone expresses interest in my home."

"Well, I've never been outside the village, really." Alfred admitted with a little laugh. "I've always wanted…" He trailed off, feeling a little silly.

Matthew looked at him expectantly and gave him an encouraging little smile. "Yes?"

Alfred laughed sheepishly before continuing. "I've always wanted to travel. And I like hearing about other places…"

The other blond appraised him with those indigo eyes and he felt fairly self-conscious.

'I must sound like such a backwoods ass.' Alfred thought. 'Travel. He's probably been everywhere—'

"It snowed a lot." Matthew began, a faraway look settling on his face. "I remember mountains with little snow-capped peaks. I could see them from my window. And you could see the stars perfectly."

Alfred listened, enraptured, as the other blond weaved descriptions of a cold that could silently kill and delicate snowflakes that dusted clothing and strange ribbons of color that danced in the midnight sky.

Unbidden, his hand began to move, dragging the piece of charcoal softly across the canvas. Matthew's wisp of a voice in his ear and mind filled with the thought of a heavy blanket of snow, he drew like a man inspired.

"And then we moved to the Capital." Matthew ended softly, voice a touch wistful. He looked up, seeing the strong lines of Alfred's back that blocked the canvas. "What are you drawing?" he stood up, curious, trying to catch a peak.

"Uh-uh!" Alfred said quickly, whirling around and holding out his arms childishly. "It's a surprise~" He grinned widely at the nobleman, unmindful of how familiar he was behaving with the other.

Matthew, noting the casualness with which he was treated, could find no insult in the treatment. Alfred was close to his age, without a doubt, and it was nice to find someone so friendly and cheerful and eager to listen to his ramblings.

So he laughed softly and shrugged. "Fine. But I hope it'll be a nice surprise."

"Oh you'll love it." Alfred swore, winking.

Matthew, feeling more at home with the other's cavalier attitude (such a refreshing change from the cleverly hidden disdain of the Court), sat back down, much lighter in spirit now than previous days.

* * *

"How was your day?" Arthur asked briskly, sliding a plate of charred and smoking food towards his brother as the younger boy slid into an empty seat.

Alfred, with fingers smudged black and blue and purple and green, gave him an exuberant smile. "Probably better than yours." He teased, picking up the fork and stabbing at his meal experimentally.

"Git." Arthur responded easily, green eyes carrying no malice. "What was today's grand painting?"

"A mountain scene." Alfred explained, a little distracted by the fact that his fork refused to leave the burnt food. "Did you know Matthew used to live near mountains?"

Arthur, who was drying a glass and waving in some new customers, rolled his eyes. "How would I know of Lord Williams' personal life?"

"Well he did." Alfred sniped moodily before cheerfully adding. "He's pretty chill."

"Alfred…" The sandy-haired man sighed, setting down the glass. "Please do not shame me by behaving…inappropriately."

Alfred snorted, washing down his first bite with half a glass of milk.

"I mean it." Arthur snapped, tapping the wooden counter to get his brother's attention. "You think you have the devil's luck, but you don't—"

"Aw, you're worrying too much Artie."

Arthur quieted, pursing his lips together in displeasure at the other's devil-may-care attitude.

Alfred, however, was too busy thinking of snowy landscapes and how exactly the shadow of an evergreen should fall.

* * *

"—and my nurse was furious!" Matthew related, chuckling. "The entire room—rug and blankets and furniture—was soaked and the little bear just sat on the cushion and looked around."

"What was its name?" Alfred asked, smiling as he watched the noblemen devolve into another fit of laughter.

"K-kuma…" the purple-eyed man looked thoughtful. "Kumajirou, I believe."

"You're not sure?" Alfred looked surprised.

"Well I changed his name a lot when I was younger." Matthew defended, a small pout playing on his lips.

"And he just followed you around?"

"All the time. He slept in my bed and ate from my plate." The other blond smiled fondly. "He was so darling, Alfred. He was my best friend."

Alfred nodded, blue eyes focused on the colors he was mixing as Matthew continued to speak. "What happened to him?"

"We had to leave him with some friends when we moved." Matthew sounded so sad, Alfred's heart clenched painfully. "Sometimes he'd look so confused, as though he wasn't sure who I was."

The painter's brush skimmed the surface of the canvas lovingly.

Dark brown.

Slate grey.

Icy blue.

Alfred breathed out slowly, not noticing when Matthew quieted.

"I didn't know you could be so focused." Matthew teased, at ease with the other boy.

"There's a lot you don't know about me." Alfred retorted jokingly before sobering up, quickly adding, "My lord."

"Then educate me, Alfred." Matthew said with a smile, chin perched in his hand as he leaned his elbow on the table. "So that when you become a Master, I can say 'Yes, I knew Master Jones. He's a fine fellow'."

There was no teasing in the nobleman's voice, only genuine belief and kindness. It was so unlike the tones of the other villagers who either only humored or mocked his aspirations.

Ducking his head a bit shyly, the normally boisterous blond felt a little anxious. What would he say? What could he say? Was there any way to impress the other boy?

"Um…" Alfred began, intelligently. "My favorite colors are red, white, and blue." Then he promptly kicked himself mentally.

"I'm quite fond of red, myself." Matthew looked thoughtful before a somewhat sly look flitted across his face. "But why white? Is it not the absence of color?"

"Its not just that." Alfred insisted, putting down the paintbrush and turning to face the other. "Its beautiful and pure. Its as fierce as red and as definite as black. And you always need it."

"You're very opinionated." Matthew noted softly, a bit struck by the vehemence the other displayed. "That's a good quality to have."

Alfred shrugged. "Not all think so, my lord."

"If you live according to how others want, you'll never be happy." The blond nobleman continued in that soft voice, indigo eyes flickering away.

Alfred, ignoring his inner voice that sounded too much like Arthur, turned back around and queried, "Aren't you happy, my lord?"

Matthew didn't answer immediately and when he did, he didn't look at Alfred. "I am content."

"You shouldn't settle for content, my lord, you—"

"You're being a little too bold, are you not Alfred?" Matthew interrupted coldly, eyes darkening to a rich shade of plum and flecked with displeasure.

"My apologies." Alfred bowed stiffly. Then he immediately added, "I just think you deserve to be happy."

Matthew looked torn between looking touched and sending Alfred away. The emotions warred for a moment on his face, before an easy mask slipped over the indecision and the annoyance lifted from his body language.

Alfred, feeling now, that maybe he had pushed the boundaries of propriety too much for the day, quietly turned back to the painting and concentrated on the fine lines of the fir trees.

The two sat in near silence, with the only sound the soft noises of the brush scratching the canvas.

"I live with my brother." Alfred shared, breaking the silence that was starting to grate on him.

"Your parents?" Matthew asked, in a disinterested voice.

"They've passed on." Alfred said curtly.

There was a pause and then Matthew, sounding more like the Matthew that had been keeping Alfred company said, "I'm sorry."

Alfred shrugged. "It was a long time ago. But I remember, my dad used to take me along whenever he went to sketch."

He didn't need to look back he could easily imagine Matthew leaning forward in interest, all traces of untouchable aristocrat gone from his demeanor. He could see the way the light played with his golden hair and he could envision those eyes—swirling blues and purples—and he could imagine the delicate lines of the other's brow and sharp nose.

Instead, he continued to talk and Matthew was more than happy to listen.

* * *

Guys, remember Matthew is a noble and Alfred is a commoner. Matthew was taught that he was somewhat better. Yes, he is humble and kind and down-to-earth, but he is still a noble and Alfred cannot just be buddy-buddy with him. Alfred has to watch himself, even if Matthew was the one to initiate their companionship. ITS LIKE PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN DUDES. kind of.

Anyways, to be honest, I didn't think this story was that popular. :| So it took a backseat to other stuff. Then I saw the poll results. So, I am genuinely curious, how many people want to see this continued?


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